


What We Make

by OrangeAvatar



Series: What We Make [1]
Category: Back to the Future (Movies), Predator Original Series (1987-1990), Terminator (Movies)
Genre: Character Development, Crossover, Dark, Fluff, Gen, Minor Character Death, Multiple Crossovers, Science Fiction, Time Travel, magic a is magic a, robot as menace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-14 17:43:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17513042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeAvatar/pseuds/OrangeAvatar
Summary: As Dr. Emmett Brown prepares for an excursion to the future, he discovers a terrible truth: Judgement Day is coming. The only hope for humanity's survival after the nuclear apocalypse is John Connor. Possessing the most powerful and versatile time machine in existence, it falls upon him, his friend and helper Marty and future soldier Kyle Reese to save Sarah Connor and her unborn son from a killing machine one year in the past. Doc, Marty and Reese must travel to Los Angeles in 1984 to avert Skynet's ultimate victory, while a malign, invisible influence stalks California with an unknowable goal.There is no fate...





	1. A Time-Traveler's Guide to the Galaxy

“I knew it. It’s all wrong! All of it, I tell you! If only cousin Wernher were here! I’ve discovered—”

Doctor Emmett Brown’s gloating abruptly stopped as the fire from the back of the model rocket sputtered and died, the lifeless cylinder soon disappearing into the trees below the hillside. He grasped his chin in his hand, his lab coat fluttering around him in the autumn breeze, and paused, his mouth hanging open, stunned. Hill Valley was laid out below him, abuzz with energy as its people returned to their suburban homes after the workday. Tiny cars were visible on the distant streets, merrily driving along, ignoring the science being done above them. There was the old clock tower, and off in the distance Twin Pines Mall, and there was Marty’s house.

“Marty! Another rocket! The blue one, please, and make sure it isn’t leaking!”

Marty put down his book, hopped down from the rock he was perched on, and walked over to the haphazard pile of models and scientific equipment Doc had unloaded from his van. He looked through it until he found the blue rocket and turned back to the doctor, who was still standing and wondering at some obscure bit of engineering he’d failed to make work. “This it, Doc?” he said.  
Doc turned. “Yes, good, Marty, bring it here,” he said. As he handed over the rocket, Marty became aware of a judgmental look in Doc’s eye. He was looking over at the rock and the book sitting atop it.

“Marty. You really must be careful about what you’re reading. Adams is no scientist, and he’s spreading false knowledge.”

“What do you mean? ‘Restaurant at the End of the Universe’? It’s fiction, Doc.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong! Well, right after a fashion. Everything he wrote was indeed hogwash, but the basic principles? Not so improbable. Not so improbable at all.”

“What, like aliens? Spaceships? Time travel?” Marty hesitated a moment. “You, uh, you know those aren’t real, right Doc? I mean, they’re fun to read about, but—”

“Great Scott, boy, have some imagination! It’s 1983! We’re on the precipice of the future. Aliens are a statistical certainty. We’ve landed a man on the moon. And time travel! That’s where Adams has it all wrong!”

Marty wasn’t sure whether it was worth arguing, but the gleam in Doc’s eyes was there, the one he got whenever he got to wax poetic about the things he knew but no one would believe. He decided to humour the old scientist.

“Time travel’s not real.” That’d do it.

“Oh, but it is! It is! I’ve proven it! Even filed a patent for the flux capacitor back in ’55, and without miniaturized particle accelerators or access to God knows what sort of sorcery they’ll cook up in the future, it’s the best machine there is for travelling through time. It’s possible, I tell you, and even probable that someone will travel through time in our lifetime. Or ahead of it. And it simply doesn’t work like that crackpot Adams says.”

“He’s a comic. He’s not trying to be a serious scientist.”

“All depictions of science influence public perception. As scientists, we’ve got to make sure nobody’s being unfairly deceived. Frankly, Adams’s time travel is pure falsehood. As soon as you return from the Restaurant and book your reservation there, you’ve changed the timeline! The Restaurant may no longer exist in the future! Your actions may destroy it, and then you’ll no longer be able to go back to the future and eat there anymore. As such, the only prudent business decision for the Restaurant is to require all reservations to be made in advance.”

Marty scratched his head. “Can we like, start at the beginning with this whole time travel thing?”

The faintest tinge of frustration appeared in Doc’s voice. “Let’s say you’ve got a time machine that can take you to the past or future as you so choose. If you go to the future, obviously you’re not going to be there in the intervening time, and so it will unfold without you and you’ll arrive in a future where you took no actions whatsoever, but still in the same timeline. Does that make sense? Of course it does. Now, let’s say you go to the past.”

Doc meticulously examined the rocket and carefully mounted it on the launching apparatus he’d built.

“The second you arrive in the past, the world will fall away and be replaced with an extremely similar but irreversibly different one. You have created a divergent timeline. Unfortunately, you’re stuck in it, and the other one doesn’t exist anymore- at least from your perspective. If you go forward, you’ll probably be in a very similar future, but every change you make is permanent. That’s the first law- you can’t go back.”

Marty bit his lip, regretting the question he asked. Doc put his goggles back over his eyes, put on his gloves, and fired up his acetylene torch.

“The second law is the law of immunity. If JFK were to go back in time and carry out his own assassination, he could proceed to live a normal life. He’d be fine—after all, only the prime timeline’s JFK is dead. The original timeline’s JFK is alive and well, although very guilty, I’m sure. As long as he never time travelled again, he’d be alright. Let’s say he felt guilty, time travelled back again, and assassinated himself to save himself! What a conundrum! However, because this is a third timeline, two out of three JFKs would still survive and live happily ever after. I’m sure he’d give himself the Presidential Medal of Freedom. At any rate, he’d be perfectly fine despite just having killed somebody who looks an awful lot like his past self. He could even destroy his past self’s time machine. There’s a total causative disconnect between timelines. That’s the second law—you can’t cause a paradox. Very convenient.”

Lighting the fuse with the torch, Doc stepped back a few paces and stared intently at his work, tracking the rocket’s future trajectory. There was math in his eyes. You could see the equations dancing behind them. He knew exactly what was about to happen.

“You’re thinking: what’s the third law? There’s no third law. I suppose you could call “you always appear at the same spot on Earth you left” a third law, but it’s really a function of the flux capacitor. I’m sure there are other methods that send you back to the same point in space, and yet others that teleport you with respect to the planet.”

The fuse ended and the back of the rocket lit up. It flew out a respectable distance in a perfect arc before exploding, sending shrapnel raining down over the hillside. Marty reflexively ducked, while Doc just stood there shaking his head.

“My God. Time travel’s so simple. How can rocket science be so hard?”

As Doc was loading up his van with boxes of shattered rocket parts, Marty finally managed to puzzle through his explanation, and a question immediately came to him. “Hey, Doc, what if a big Led Zeppelin fan went to the past to meet them, and he figured out that there was no Led Zeppelin, but he’d brought their songs? So, like, he went and got some guys and they become Led Zeppelin? Who wrote the music?”

Doc looked at Marty and paused for a few seconds, contemplating his answer. “Marty, that’s impossible. Someone had to write it. If anyone’s ever used a time machine, the timeline’s already changed, potentially hundreds or billions of times. There was an original Zeppelin. The loop simply must have been different the first time.”

“What if someone else went back in time? What would you see?”

“Well, they’d disappear, never to be seen again, although it’s possible a very similar version of yourself would see them come back. Forward is quite another story- you’d see them again if you were at the destination.”

“What if you tried to follow someone back in time?”

“That’s a good question. If you arrived before him, you’d see him arrive. If afterwards, you’d see the changes he made, and he’d probably still be there. Of course, you’d create a new timeline when you showed up, regardless, but the second law would mean he still appeared in precisely the same spot at the same time.”

Marty picked up another dented model off the grass and carried it to the truck. The two wandered around for a while, gathering the fruits of Doc’s experimentation, all failures, but each representing progress. As Marty loaded the final cardboard box into the van amidst the ticking of the clocks that lined its interior, he noticed Doc standing right at the edge of the hill, staring at the clock tower. He walked up and sat down next to the old man.

“Doc? Whatcha thinkin’?”

“Sometimes I wonder about those people down there. I don’t mean to pontificate,”

Marty furrowed his brow in confusion and resolved to borrow a dictionary.

“…but I can’t help but think: why aren’t they up here, or I down there? I see why they avoid me, and I can hardly blame them. What I can’t seem to puzzle out is why I’m always so far away from them. I can never motivate myself to get closer.” There was a wistful tone to Doc’s voice, which trailed off like it always did when he was thinking about something very interesting—to himself, at least.

“I’m up here, Doc.” Marty said.

Doc looked at him for a few seconds, lost in thought. “I suppose that’s true, isn’t it? Maybe if more of them were like you, we’d be better off.”

“Or the hill would just be crowded.”

Doc went through incredulity and confusion directly to raucous laughter in less than a second. It didn’t take long before Marty started laughing as well, though he wasn’t really sure why. Regaining his bearings, Doc said “Marty, dear boy, don’t let me forget that. It’s the cross I bear for my art! You’re right, you’re right of course, every real scientist, every pioneer is lonely. But I don’t have to be alone. I suppose without you, I’d fly off this hill into the sky, and they’d all just keep getting smaller until they disappeared. Ha! What a world that would be!”

Marty checked his watch. “It’s getting late, Doc. It’s almost 5:30. I should really be getting home soon. I biked up here, you know.”

“Of course. Give my regards to Jim and Lauren. Remember, next Wednesday I need your help moving some glassware and setting up that centrifuge.”

“George and Lorraine.” he said, standing up.

“Who?”

“Their names… nevermind, Doc, it’s fine. See you next week, I guess. Don’t, like, fly away or anything.”

Doc alternated between looking at the sunset, contorted in thought, and adjusting his watch, muttering something about the Earth’s axis of rotation being inconvenient. Marty rode away down the hillside, crossed over the stream nearby, and entered the small world the old man was watching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obvious exposition and fluff chapter. Time travel works like Back to the Future, except you can't accidentally kill yourself in the past.
> 
> Well, you can. You'll just have to live with it.


	2. Forward to the Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> October 26, 1985, two years after the first chapter.

Marty’s skateboard wheels clattered against the pavement as he approached the parking lot at Twin Pines Mall. Doc’s van was there, as ugly and haphazard as ever. Twenty after one in the morning. The Pinheads were supposed to have a practice session at six. Marty peered at the van, hoping to see something that would justify coming out here.

“Einstein! Hey, Einstein, where’s the Doc, boy?” he said, halting his skateboard next to the dog.

An electrical hum filled the air, and Marty watched as the back of the van opened, a cloud of white gas emerging from it as twin ramps extended onto the asphalt. He stood slowly, trying to make out what was within.

It was obvious soon enough. A DMC DeLorean, plated with shining steel, arrayed with apparatuses and wires straight out of a pulp sci-fi book. The coolest sports car of the decade, right there in front of him. “OUTATIME”, the license plate read. More smoke poured from the inside as the door rose up like a bird’s wing and Doc emerged from underneath, clutching a clipboard, a pen in his mouth.

“Marty!” Doc said, grabbing his jacket. “You made it! Welcome to my latest experiment! This is the big one, the one I’ve been waiting for all my life!” Doc’s mouth was running faster than the V6 engine in the beautiful machine he’d just come out of. “It’s a DeLorean, right—”, Marty began to ask, but Doc cut him off. “All your questions will be answered.” Soon, Doc had him filming. Most of the time, this ended with Doc on tape doing something very loud and impressive that ultimately failed to prove anything, but Marty had a feeling this was different.

Doc ushered Einstein into the car. He looked at Marty intently. “Einstein’s clock is in precise synchronization with my control watch.” Closing the door, he readied a remote control and began steering the car around the parking lot, Einstein still inside. All Marty could do was videotape it as Doc led him to the center of the lot. Doc smirked, looking as confident as he always was before a major screw-up. “If my calculations are correct,” he said, “when this baby hits 88 miles per hour, you’re gonna see some serious shit.”

A cloud of vaporized rubber rose up from the tires as the DeLorean’s engine revved up. It was pointed directly at them. Doc alternated between grinning like a madman and sternly gazing at Marty, making sure he was filming. The car began speeding towards them, accelerating quickly. Marty instinctively moved out of the way, but Doc, unflinching, pulled him back into its path. “Watch this!” he said. Marty trusted him enough to stand and watch as bolts of blue energy streaked off a singularity ahead of the car and lightning flashed from the antennae atop it. The tires left flaming streaks on the ground as the vehicle careened towards Marty, accelerated further- and vanished in a burst of light.

The flames continued between Marty’s legs, but the car was gone. Doc looked amazed at his own handiwork. “What did I tell you!? 88 miles per hour!”, Doc began to shout, jumping up and down as Marty stared incredulously at the DeLorean’s path, and the smoking license plate lying between the burning trails. “…1:20 am and zero seconds!” Doc shouted triumphantly. Marty picked up the license plate, only to drop it, surprised by its heat. “Jesus Christ… Jesus Christ, Doc, you disintegrated Einstein!” he said.

“Calm down, Marty, I didn’t disintegrate anything! The molecular structure of both Einstein and the car are completely intact!” Doc said, striding forwards and writing furiously on his clipboard. “Then where the hell are they?” said Marty.

“The appropriate question is: when the hell are they?” Doc glowed with satisfaction. His look of vindication did little to change Marty’s mind about what he’d just seen. “Einstein has just become the world’s first time traveler! I sent him into the future!” Marty followed Doc as he walked up and down the smoking pavement, still incredulous. “One minute into the future, to be exact. At exactly 1:21 am and zero seconds, we shall catch up with him and the time machine.”

Weary realization washed over Marty. “Are you telling me you built a time machine… out of a DeLorean?”

And then in a flash, the dog was back. The car streaked out of the void, still going 88 miles per hour, and Doc’s remote brought it to a halt. He carefully approached, opened the door, and soon after, Einstein bounded out, his clock still showing 1:20 am, none the worse for wear. Doc patted the dog on the head and looked him over. Marty sighed in relief and exasperation.

 

“Doc, do we really have to wear these things?” Marty said. Doc shook his head. “Marty, you really must learn basic safety principles. This is plutonium. The stuff in that box is spitting out alpha particles at a blistering rate. Frankly, we shouldn’t even be within a mile of it.” Marty was too amazed at Doc Brown’s sudden interest in safety principles to protest the use of plutonium in a mall parking lot.

Slowly and carefully, Doc fed the plutonium into the device on the car’s rear end, where it disappeared with a rush of air, startling Marty. He immediately removed his hood. “Safe, now!” he said. Marty turned off the camera and removed his own radiation hood, Doc warning him not to lose the tapes. Marty couldn’t help but wonder why Doc wasn’t keeping the tapes himself. Doc packed away the plutonium and gathered up his suitcase, saying something about the necessity of cotton underwear in the future.

“The future?” Marty asked. “That’s where you’re going?”

“That’s right, 44 years into the future, I’ve always dreamed of seeing the future, living beyond my years, seeing the progress of mankind…” Doc’s mouth was running again. The giddy, schoolboy excitement on his face wasn’t out of character for him, but it usually came before an experiment, not after. “…I’ll also be able to see who wins the next 44 World Series!”

Marty could hardly believe what he was hearing. With disguised sadness in his voice, he said his goodbyes: “Uh, Doc… Look me up, when you get there.” “Indeed I will,” the old man replied. “Roll ‘em.”

Marty continued to film as Doc opened the door again, and with the smug pride of a man who had finally accomplished the impossible, issued a statement which made more of an attempt at professionalism than anything Marty had ever heard him say. “I, Doctor Emmett Brown, am about to embark on an historic journey… what am I thinking, ah, I almost forgot to bring extra plutonium! How’d I ever expect to get back? One pellet, one trip. I must be out of my mind!” The facade dropped. This was Doc, alright.

He sauntered over to the box with its conspicuous radiation symbols and loaded it into the trunk next to his suitcase. “Hey, wait, does this mean you’ll be back?” Marty asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. “Of course I’ll be back! Think about it. I could bring future inventions back here, change the world, finally advance science to where it needs to be! I’d be a hero! Besides, how would I ever make any money on the World Series if I didn’t come back here?” Marty wasn't sure if he was kidding.

Einstein began to bark. “What is it, boy?” Doc said. The dog didn’t answer. Doc looked troubled. “What is it?” Marty asked. “Well, I borrowed the plutonium from some Libyan terrorists…” Doc replied. “You did what? Libyan terrorists?” “I promised to make them a bomb, you know, atomic, the sort of thing everyone in the region would kill to get their hands on, and they sent me the materials needed. Sent ‘em back a casing full of parts from an old pinball machine. I was worried they’d found me for a moment. Einstein has a sixth sense with regards to these things.” Marty was skeptical. “Terrorists, Doc? I mean, there’s your usual stuff, and then there’s crazy, and this is crazy.” Doc waved his arm dismissively. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I’ll be in the future for at least a while and I’ll know if they’re looking for me when I come back.”

“Doc, what if they come after me?” Marty asked, his eyes wide. “I could get killed!”

“Marty, I promise you, I will come back here and I’ll make sure nothing happens.” Doc’s tone was unusually serious. He looked directly at Marty, put a hand on his shoulder, and smiled slightly. “This time everything is going to work out just fine.” For the first time in years, Marty found himself thoroughly reassured by Doc’s words. Something was different about him this time. The future, Marty thought. He knew that giving Doc the keys to the future would change everything for him. After all, the old man had always lived there. Maybe he’d come into his own in the year 2029.

It might have been the darkness, or Einstein’s continued silence, or the vast suburban emptiness around them, or Doc’s words, but Marty found himself unable to think of Libyan terrorists suddenly emerging from the night to destroy Doc’s achievement. He did have one question, though. “Wait, Doc, why 44?”

“Forty-two in honour of that quack physicist Douglas Adams, God bless him, and two more because it’s two years ago I decided I’d build this thing. Figured it was as good a number as any. Make sure you’re still rolling until after I cross the time barrier. I’ll be back here in eight hours—your time—and I promise, you’ll be the first one I tell about everything that happens downstream.” Doc smiled warmly. “Marty, you’ve been a good friend and assistant to me. When I go back to the future, I’ll think about taking you along. Just to visit. See what they’ve done with the world.” Marty wasn’t keen on the idea, but he knew that from Doc, that was the highest praise possible. Nobody got to share Emmett Brown’s dreams.

It was with hope and satisfaction that Doc departed the year 1985, and Marty watched him leave. The moment was recorded on film for all time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, poor Doc.


	3. Impetuous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get our crossover.

The newscaster’s voice was professional and dry. “And now, more on the mysterious case of the empty van. The disappearance of the five men who arrived in Los Angeles last week has not yet been solved, and the police have made no progress. They refuse to comment on a local man who says he discovered human remains on his property, and have not named a suspect. What we know so far is that an unmarked van which contained firearms and ammunition was found with its engine block partially melted and its doors open. Spent shell casings were found by police two days ago near the road. It was last seen with five men inside by a gas station owner on the road between L.A. and Hill Valley, California. The police have said nothing concerning the possible identity of the five missing men, except that they had just arrived in the country from Libya. Later, after a word from our sponsors: does toothpaste cause cancer? Find out here.”

Marty flicked off the TV. “Hey, Dad, any calls?” he asked, getting up off the couch. George McFly looked up from his newspaper at the answering machine. He hadn’t moved since Marty got up in the morning. “Looks like there’s at least one,” he said in a flat tone. “Why’d you ask?”

“It’s Doc.” Marty said, and immediately wished he’d said it was Jennifer instead.

“You, uh, you shouldn’t be hanging around with the Doc.” George said noncommittally, staring at his newspaper.

“He did something really cool this time. I just went to take a look,” Marty said.

“What was it?” George asked with a tiny hint of interest.

“Oh, nothing, just a…” Marty thought back to the previous day. “A big amplifier. You know, like for a guitar. It was huge.”

“That’s good. Make sure you don’t, uh, suffer hearing loss. I read that’s a problem.” Ignoring George, Marty picked up the receiver and played the first message. It was Doc.

“Marty.” There was silence for a moment. Then Doc hung up.

Marty frowned in confusion, then played the second message.

“Marty, something has happened. I need to see you immediately. Immediately! There’s no time to waste!” The urgency in Doc’s voice was palpable.

George spoke. “The Doc sounds upset about something. You should be careful. He’s crazy, you know. Are you, uh, really going to go talk to him? Just think about it.” His clumsy attempt at a warning fell on deaf ears as Marty rushed out the door.

 

Doc’s garage door was wide open. The van was outside, haphazardly parked by the curb. The DeLorean was nowhere to be seen. Marty skateboarded up the driveway and propped up his board by the door. “Doc?” he said, a note of concern in his voice.

The interior of the garage was covered in clocks of every description- modern digital clocks, analog alarm clocks, Swiss antiques. Doc’s machines were set up inside, the ones that fed Einstein while he was away. A cup of coffee lay broken on the floor, and dirty boot prints were visible on the ground, leading away from the van. As he entered, he noticed Doc lying back in a large armchair, staring at the ceiling. His lab coat and pants were stained around the bottom with dirt and ash. A second cup of coffee was sitting next to him, untouched.

“Doc! Hey, Doc, what’s wrong?” Marty asked, walking over to him. “You look terrible. What happened?”

Doc looked at Marty sadly. “I’m so sorry, Marty. I never thought- I never imagined, for an instant, it would be this way!”

“Doc, you’re scaring me, man. What’s going on?” Marty looked over his shoulder. For Libyan terrorists, maybe. He didn’t know what was making him so uneasy. He spotted Doc’s table cleared of its usual contents—a not-to-scale model of the town—and replaced with a long rifle, black and worn, a blocky sight atop it, with a thick stock and narrow muzzle. Behind it, leaning against the wall, was a young man in a long trench coat. He was blond, at least half a foot taller than Marty, and though handsome, had a desperate look to him and a resolute, serious demeanour. He looked like Principal Strickland, single-minded and uncompromising. His face and clothes were dirty, and he looked at everything with suspicion and contempt, watching the exits closely.

“Doc, who’s that?” Doc’s torpor partially lifted and he seemed about to say something when the other man spoke.

“Emmett, who the hell is this?” he said, spitting his words.

Doc’s voice swelled with uncharacteristic intensity. “Kyle! Please!”

Kyle stared at Marty, grimacing.

“Marty,” Doc said, rising and grabbing him by the shoulders, “I brought you here to warn you. The timeline mustn’t be altered, but… You have to get out! You have to get out of Hill Valley and California, you have to go somewhere quiet! Canada, maybe. Just leave! Leave, never come back, do it before the year 1997! Live your life far away. Far, far away.” The fire in his voice faded and Doc trailed off. Marty ushered him back into the chair.

“Doc, what happened? Calm down. Just start at the beginning. What’s wrong?”

“Get out, kid, if you know what’s good for you.” Kyle kicked off from the wall as he admonished Marty, and began pacing up and down the garage.

“No way, buddy! What do you have to do with this anyway?” Before Marty could say anything more, Doc spoke up again.

“Marty, dear boy. I’ve been such a fool. Assuming the future was going to be bright! Great Scott, I’m ashamed. Ashamed of myself! Kyle… Kyle is from there.”

Kyle threw his hands up in exasperation and shook his head. “Didn’t you just fucking say we can’t alter the timeline, old man?”

“Kyle! We can trust him!” Doc said plaintively.

Marty looked at Kyle, then at Doc, then shook his head and smiled. “You’re playing a joke on me. This guy’s my kid from the future or something, and you’re like, trying to mess with me, right?” Kyle buried his face in his hands. Doc looked up at Marty and all emotion disappeared from his face. “Marty. I have never been more serious in all my life. This is real. Kyle is real. He is not a scientist or a relative of mine or yours. He is a soldier. The future stretches out ahead of us not into light but into darkness.” Marty’s face began to turn white as Doc continued. “Judgement Day. August 29, 1997. Twenty-five days earlier, NATO placed a computer in charge of its nuclear weapons. Judgement Day is the day it became self-aware. There is nothing left, Marty. All the promise. All the fruits of reason. Ashes.”

Kyle spoke up. “Fine. If we’re going to tell him, might as well do it right. Kyle Reese, Sergeant, Tech-Com, DN38416. I work for John Connor. Here’s the good news, kid: we won. We scrapped Skynet the day Emmett here showed up. Bad news is that 98% of the world population was wiped out. Nukes, dirty bombs, then the HKs got deployed, then the Terminators. I was born in a camp.” He pulled back the mud-caked sleeve of his coat to reveal a barcode tattooed on his forearm. “I saw thousands go to the furnaces. Skynet was going to kill us all.”

Marty’s smile was completely gone now. “This is heavy.”

“Weight has nothing to do with it.” said Doc, as though in a trance. “Warning you was only a brief stopover. Before we destroyed the core, Skynet sent something back in time. Some kind of… cyborg ne’er-do-well. He was unarmed but didn’t stay that way for long. He looks human.”

Marty could barely muster the presence of mind to ask “Wait, didn’t? As in, he’s got weapons now?”

“He’s in 1984. In this timeline, he almost certainly accomplished his mission- the murder of Sarah Connor. John’s mother.”

Kyle picked up the gun on the table. “Without John, the resistance won’t stand a chance. You’ve finished your info dump to your little friend here. Are we going to go save Sarah, or what?”

“Wait, wait, hold on, Doc, you’re not going to 1984 to fight… a robot, are you?” Marty said frantically. “What about your work?”

Doc stood up, a kooky grin on his face. “This is my work now! I’ve just got to make sure Einstein’s alright for when we come back, refuel the engine and I’ll be off to save the human race. World hasn’t ended yet, after all! Tell you what, Marty, how about you go find Einstein? He should be around back.” His voice was suddenly cheery, as though nothing had happened and nothing was wrong, and Marty unquestioningly went to go get Einstein, wanting to believe that was true. As the back door swung shut, Doc turned to Kyle.

“Kyle, I’m sorry.”

“You are, huh? Do you have any idea what’s going to happen to him?” Kyle was shouting now. “You bring someone you care about up against a fucking Terminator, they’re going to die!”

“He’s not going to fight them!” Doc said. He quickly realized he was lying.

“We just told him everything. It’ll drive him insane. He’ll try to stop Skynet now, and tell me, old man, look me in the eyes and tell me he’s not going to follow us back to 84. You just made a child soldier.”

There was momentary silence.

“I know.”

“You know? Fuck you, Emmett. Nobody deserves that.”

“I know how time travel works. I’m the scientist, not you! I can’t lose him to the butterfly effect!”

“You’ll lose him to the machines! They’re going to kill him- they’re probably going to kill you! This is not a game. We are at war. We’re trying to save people! If you do this thing, if you send him to the fire for nothing, you are no better than them.”

Doc’s gaze fell to the floor. “I need him”, he said weakly.

Kyle stared at him while Marty walked between them and put Einstein in his kennel. Marty walked over and put an arm around Doc’s shoulder. “Are you sure about this?” he asked.

Doc looked directly at Kyle and said “Yes.”

 

 

Moments later, the DeLorean slid out of Doc’s van, Kyle staring, his pulse rifle in his hands and Marty standing a healthy distance away from him. Marty’s skateboard was in the trunk alongside most of a crate of weapons-grade plutonium. The three squeezed into the two-seater, Marty still glancing at Doc every once in a while to make sure he was alright. “So, what’s this robot like? Tell me about it.” Marty said.

“I suspect it’s much like those unscientific comic books you enjoy so much, really. That’s funny, isn’t it!? Perhaps I was the unscientific one! Ha!”

“We’re just going in there to get this Sarah Connor and coming back, right? That’s the deal?”

“Oh, of course! Kyle here’s got a phased pulse rifle in the forty-watt range, and he’s a plenty capable fellow—abrasiveness notwithstanding!”

Kyle stared out the window at the sleepy, innocent countenance of suburbia, wondering at the world, trying to suppress his anger. One memory kept nagging at him.

He was sixteen, trying his hardest to look tough with his ashen clothes and wiry frame, half the size of a Terminator and twice as angry. The Tech-Com sergeant, a balding man with eyes that passed judgement on whatever they touched, eyes that had seen it all, looked at him and grimaced. They both knew what it meant.

“Another one for the skull heaps. Good luck, kid, you’re terminated.”

Kyle had never been more insulted. He was invincible. He was going to scrap every robot and rebuild California with his bare hands and kill Skynet and undo the detonations and make the godforsaken irradiated soil bloom and be a hero. Three days later he was in the Resistance, taking orders and fighting for his life, bleeding, forgetting what it meant to be safe.

Marty McFly. What a chicken-shit name. The kid was just as soft as the rest of this unviolated world Kyle had had the misfortune to march into. He didn’t quite realize why he didn’t object when the Doc let Marty in on this bizarre suicide pact, talked him into taking the car into the past, but he knew it had something to do with that old sergeant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gang is together!


End file.
